Twice

Sunlight streams
Through the
Leaves lighting
Faded feelings
Making memories

Two times
We watch
Remembrances reappear
While wine
Tickles tongues

The taste
Of olives
Lingers long
Bringing back
Pristine ponderings

Black & White

Pebble by pebble, the story came together.
Pebble by pebble, the river traced its path.
Pebble by pebble, it all unfolded.

* * *

The story came together in front of my eyes. It was unlike any other story that I had seen before. It was pristine in its simplicity. Captivating in its boldness. And mesmerizing in its presentation. It was no ordinary story. And it came together pebble by pebble.

The river traced its path through this story. It came out of nowhere and gently went over each pebble. Drowning them and taking them into its great expanse. Into the story that it was. It was creation and recreation at the same time. And it traced its path pebble by pebble.

It all unfolded as everything happened everywhere. A perfectly synchronized harmony that is life, played in the background. And the background melted and slowly everything started to fall into its own. Each was seen for what it was and the whole did not exist anymore. And it all unfolded pebble by pebble.

The answer

Is it the wind
Or the sea
That is whispering
To me
The horizon
Encased
Between
Two palm trees
Draws closer
And closer
And the answer
Further

Shapes and signs

The 'shapes of travel' appear every time I look up before embarking on a journey. It's not the same shape every time, but there is a kind of symbolism to it. It's almost like a sign, but the only thing is that it appears after the journey has begun.



Sometimes, I wonder why I look upwards before starting a journey? Is it the endless possibilities of travel? Is it something deep down inside or just a habit? And how come I don't notice any shapes when the journey is ending?

Somehow, you don't look up when the journey is over. You don't see the shapes. You don't see the signs. Maybe you are too caught up in thinking about the past, or getting ready to face the future.

Everyday

Sunlight
Streams
And splashes
On eyes closed
To the world

Entrapped
In the beat
Of darkness
And light
And in between

Memories
Fade in
And out
Like the rhythm
Of life

The eyes
Open
And the world
Fades
Back in

Twilight

At that moment, when the moment arrived, I had no idea what I was going to say. Have you ever felt this way before? Reaching the moment that you have been waiting for all the time and being left speechless? It is a strange kind of irony when this happens, I can tell you that. And the irony is that you have spent so much time thinking of what you wanted to say only to be left speechless at the moment. But wait, that was not the end of the matter. Is this a philosophical discussion of the beauty of the silence and how everything that you wanted to say was absorbed within your soul and what came out after that was truly heartfelt and beautiful? Nothing like that happened. That only happens in dreams, or to be more precise, daydreams. Even dreams are not so kind to you.



"At that moment, when the moment arrived, I had no idea what I was going to say. Have you ever felt this way before?"

"Reaching the moment that you have been waiting for all the time and being left speechless?"

"It is a strange kind of irony when this happens, I can tell you that."

"And the irony is that you have spent so much time thinking of what you wanted to say only to be left speechless at the moment."

"But wait, that was not the end of the matter."

"Is this a philosophical discussion of the beauty of the silence and how everything that you wanted to say was absorbed within your soul and what came out after that was truly heartfelt and beautiful?"

"Nothing like that happened. That only happens in dreams, or to be more precise, daydreams."

"Even dreams are not so kind to you."

Déjà vu again

Déjà vu. I saw it happen again. Before. Only this time it was for real.

And I thought back to how I saw a place I never knew existed within the place I existed. This was a strange experience for me. It was not the same kind of a déjà vu. It was a dream becoming real, but not a dream you expected to come to life within the bounds of your everyday reality. Yet there it was, staring you in the face. Existing where you didn’t think it would. And that is when I knew, that you can’t take anything for granted. Things are there and you might not have seen them. When the basest of assumptions turn out to be blatant lies. And those lies get shattered.

Déjà vu. I saw it happen before. Again. Only this time it might have been a dream.

Back in the same city again. After a long time. Back again, in exactly the same situation. As clearly as it was, in the dream. But I didn’t make the connection till I looked up, and saw something that caught my attention. And he was there, exactly the way he was in my dream. Looking back with a friendly stare. Waiting for an answer. And I was thinking about my dream and how I got here. And about all the other dreams that have come true and might come true in the future. This one, of course, was harmless. But what about the darker ones? What if they started to come to life. But they wouldn’t. I knew that. So I picked up my drink and smiled back.

Music and hope

Music
What a way to start a day

Music
Creating hope
Creating desire
Creating life
All around

Like a breath of fresh air, even when there is no fresh air around.
Like the rhythm of the swaying leaves, even when there is no wind blowing.
Like the sweet sounds of the morning after it has rained, even though it is a bright and dry day.
Like the morning dew, even though you are walking on concrete.

Music
Giving hope
Giving desire
Giving Life
Now

Music
That plays
On and on
And on

Motion

A perception

Of motion

Created

A perception

Of stillness

Recreated

The sound

Of motion

Muffled

The sound

Of stillness

Deafening

To create

She looked at the wall and saw that it was not good enough. So she decided to redo it.

She thought back to the perceptions of what was ancient, and what people would find exotic; and decided to give them what they wanted. On this wall which had never before been looked at. She wanted to create a story and tell it. But no one wanted to listen. And that is why she was doing this.

She needed to paint out a lie that everyone already believed in so that they would believe in what she created. And thus, from the first moment on, the creation was flawed. Because it had within it, not what others imagined, but the baggage that they carried.



The moments of creation were, of course, beautiful. The white light streaming in from behind her and illuminating as she created. The gentle breeze that ruffled her hair, which she finally had to tie up. The joy of mixing the colours with her new brushes. And how it all transformed the wall. The wall which had nothing on it. Now had a story. Her story. Her infected story, but her story nonetheless. And as her story unfolded, she was drawn in by it. Simply by the act of creating it.

What she didn’t know was, the story that she was creating was real. Somewhere, as her story mixed with the perceptions and beliefs of others, the truth came out. The truth about the past – ancient and exotic. The truth, that everyone would believe from here on. That visitors would talk about and write about. The discoveries that would be made of this truth.

But to her it was just another creation. So she went about it without any thoughts about the future. She was too wrapped up in creating the past.